The Final Dance
by EK
Summary: Days before her wedding, Nasami is asked to perform the kata, with him, one last time. drabble


This is placed here upon samuraiko's request, first posted on the Samurai 8 LJ comm. Spoiler for the end of the series, and linked to The Sword of the Soul. Written because, for some odd reason, drabbles about Nasami's wedding almost always miss one person out of seven, and no one knows why that is. My answer is, he no longer has to be there.

Hoping you like this drabble.

…………………

She was alone that morning, as she always was. It was one of the last few days of her unmarried life, but she swore that, single or married, she would never forget about doing the drills that are now part of her persona.

Surrounded by the early morning mist of the clearing just behind their dwelling, she inhaled deeply, and readied her mind and soul for the kata.

Then, she thought she heard something being said by the air around her.

"One last dance."

She looked around, and saw no one.

It was repeated a few more times. "One last dance, my lady."

The odd thing was that the samuraiko seemed to recognize the voice in the air, a voice she had not heard in a while.

Because a few misplaced bullets had ended it.

She looked around her again, and finally saw him. Rather blurred by the mists, but fully visible. The same red coat, straw hair, and double swords.

"One last dance, my lady."

He slowly drew out the swords on his back.

It took her a while to understand. Then it finally dawned.

She unsheathed her sword and took the preparatory stance of her kata.

"Shall we begin?" she asked.

He bowed, and took his stance.

Courtesy. She brought the sword horizontally, then upward, pointing at the sky. He did not attack her chest; he merely pointed his swords upward as well to cross her own.

Honor. She lowered the sword and circled. He circled along with her, avoiding the strike.

Courage. Sword in right hand, strike. Sword in left hand, defend. Sword in right hand, lunge. Sword in left hand, parry. He did not miss a beat.

Honesty. She resheathed and bowed then almost immediately unsheathed and made a wide swing. He blocked the swing before it hit his chest.

Loyalty. She rotated her sword to run parallel to the ground and swung. He ran his sword parallel to the ground in the opposite direction and blocked.

Sincerity. Placing the sword in her two hands she swung downward, as he crossed his own swords to bring the sword upward.

Compassion. He blocked the last movement at exactly the right moment, to prevent her from hurting her wrist with the stroke.

She had not done the kata of the seven swords with such speed in a while. It had always been a prayer for her, those movements. Today, it had been a conversation between comrades, friends, even lovers. Quick, responsive, exchanging.

She drew back her sword, and bowed. He placed his swords at his sides and bowed in turn.

"Perfect," she commended.

He sheathed his swords without a word.

She sheathed her own sword, as the winds blew closer to her, as he stepped forward, until she could feel what could have been his breathing.

He placed her hands under her chin, and raised her head. He brought his own head closer to hers, tilted it, and drew his lips to hers.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them breathed. Her eyes were closed, but she could see him, feel him, sense him, as if they were open. It was unlike anything she had felt before. It was true, and yet, it was unearthly. The cool sensation of water, the warm touch of fire, the reality of the man who once was, and the truth of the man who no longer was.

He finally withdrew, moved back a few steps, then bowed to her, silently, slowly.

"Fare you well, my lady."

The wind grew stronger around her, and it blew the vision away along with it.

She placed her hands together and lowered her head. "May you have the peace you seek." She barely felt the tears that fell down her cheeks.

She no longer felt his presence after that. She had a premonition that she never would again.

She heard the sound of footprints coming near her, which brought her back to reality. It was her betrothed, with his hands behind him, walking toward her, carefully, even reverentially, his long white clothes billowing slightly in the morning winds.

The man in white stopped a few feet away from her, looked around at the ground and air, then nodded.

"My rival?" he asked.

She gave him a look of much surprise, before she gave a slight nod.

"And is he well?"

"Considering," she answered.

He gave a slight smile. "Good." He went on into the house.

……………………………

Thanks for reading!


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